


Tease

by angelheadedhipster



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: CP is hard, Coming Out, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Games, Gift Fic, M/M, Sweet, Teasing, but really fun, prostitutes but offscreen, sexy games, they are actually on the airplane!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/pseuds/angelheadedhipster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt was "Five times Douglas teased Martin, and one time he went too far," but nobody said it had to be in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tease

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirenamuln](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirenamuln/gifts).



> Written for the wonderful [kirenamuln](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kirenamuln/pseuds/kirenamuln), who gave me the prompt, for her birthday. Happy birthday darling! I'm so glad we found each other.
> 
> Beta and a bit of writing done by the other half of my brain, [nitpickyabouttrains](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nitpickyabouttrains/pseuds/nitpickyabouttrains). Thank you!

Time 1

_June 14, 6:30 pm, Central European Time_

"Really, never?"

"No, Douglas, never," said Martin. "And if you keep asking the answer will still be, never."

"Lap dances, strip teases, and other forms of transactional not-quite-sex-acts should also be counted,” said Douglas. He had fully expected to win this game of Never Have I Ever, but not so fast. And, _really_ , Martin?

Martin made his familiar exasperated sighing noise. “Thank you for that clarification, Douglas, but still, no, never!” he said. “And I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Fine, fine,” said Douglas mildly, but his brain was still whirring. “Just say it, then, and the point is mine.”

“I really don’t think that I need to spell it out for-”

“That is how the game is _played_ , Martin,” said Douglas. “There are rules. And you know, of course, that rules are of utmost importance to me.”

Martin glared at him, blue-green eyes narrowed under his long lashes. “Fine,” he said. Martin’s eyelashes were an light orange color, like his hair. Douglas had yet to find the perfect method of making fun of Martin for that, but he was sure it would present itself. In actuality they were rather interesting looking, almost ethereal. “Fine.” He paused, and then swivelled in his captain’s chair to look Douglas in the eye. “Never have I, Martin Crieff-”

“ _Captain_ Martin Crieff, I should think.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Never have I, Captain Martin Crieff, ever paid for sex. There. You win.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Oh my god, Douglas, I’m not going to say the whole thing _again_.”

“I really just wanted the last two words,” said Douglas. “I never do tire of hearing them.”

“I bet you don’t,” said Martin. “Now can we focus on landing this bloody plane?”

“Of course,” said Douglas. He could feel the glimmers of a scheme settling into the back of his mind. Oh, this was going to be good. And possibly even useful. Definitely funny. “Amsterdam, here we come!”

 

The time he went too far

_June 15, 10:30 am, Central European Time_

“I mean you’ve done a lot of things to me but that was just-”

“Yes,” said Douglas. “I am sorry.”

“I just..that was completely unprofessional!” Martin’s voice was getting clipped, like it always did when he was angry, usually at Douglas, usually for something that had been very funny. The public school consonants came out, making his words sound that much stodgier and stuffier, which was perhaps the point.

“I thought you might enjoy it,” said Douglas. Martin was spluttering at him. “I thought, ‘my good friend Martin here has never had this experience, what kind of friend would I be, were I to deny him?’ The worst kind of friend, really.”

“Douglas! You sent a flipping _prostitute_ to my _hotel room_!!”

Naturally this was the moment that Carolyn walked through the door into the flight deck.

“Oh, did you really, Douglas?” she asked, a familiar gleam in her eye. “And what did you do with her, Martin?” She looked like she was trying to hold back a smile.

“I sent her home!” said Martin. He was practically vibrating out of his chair now. “What did you think I would do with her?”

There was a very amused pause.

“Well, Martin, and I can see how you might be confused by this part,” Douglas was really enjoying himself now, “the basic idea of the world’s oldest profession is-”

“Douglas,” said Carolyn warningly, although her eyes were dancing. “Let’s not.”

“Yes, let’s really not, Douglas,” snapped Martin.

“Did you still have to pay her?” Carolyn asked, looking at Douglas now.

“ _That_ is your question, Carolyn?” Martin’s voice was getting higher and higher at the ends of his sentences, and his face was beginning to get blotchy, which was new. Douglas didn’t think he had ever achieved Martin-face-blotchiness before.

He looked very angry, too. Maybe, just maybe, he had gone too far.

“Look, Martin, all right. It was too far.” Douglas found himself remarkably shaken by how upset Martin looked. He never really wanted to upset him, not really. Martin was so good at being teased, that was the point, but he didn’t really want to hurt him. “I apologize. Really. No sarcasm, no games. I was wrong and it won’t happen again.”

Carolyn was gaping at him.

Martin looked surprised, but pleased. “Well. Alright, Douglas.”

“All right?”

“Yes.”

 

Time 2

_June 15, 11:10 am, Central European Time_

“Besides,” said Martin, breaking the comfortable if slightly lengthy silence in the flight deck, “you sent the wrong kind.”

“I what?”

“Your...call girl.”

“The wrong kind _how_?” Douglas could feel his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“I mean you didn’t send one that I would like,” Martin said. There was a note in his voice, the one he used when he thought he was maybe, just possibly, getting something over on Douglas. It was slightly worrying. “If, I mean, if I was going to use one. Like that. Which I wouldn’t. But _definitely_ not her.”

Douglas did not even where to begin. Did Martin even listen to himself when he spoke? “Use her like what, exactly?”

“Well, as a...you know what I mean, Douglas.”

“Martin, we are talking about a young woman here!” Douglas was on a roll now, it made him expansive. “You cannot just use her and discard her, as if some sort of toy or plaything. I am shocked, shocked to hear you talk in this way!”

Martin was rolling his eyes.

“Why, one would think you were a man of no affinity for women whatsoever, the way you refer to them!”

“Ah,” said Martin. There was a pause. Martin seemed to be turning red, the slow blush up from his neck that crept to his ears and then his face. Douglas felt a little thrill. Martin blushing was his _favorite_.

“I mean, really, Martin,” Douglas drawled out, pushing just a little harder.

“Dou...Douglas...” Martin stuttered, “do shut up.”

“Shut up? But I am just curious. What sexual act could you possibly have in mind, for this prostitute I incorrectly supplied.”

Martin mumbled under his breath, “I...I...that was not the point.”

“I am sorry, you are correct, back to the subject on hand.” Douglas smirked, Martin getting flustered was always his goal, and he was pleased to see his words were having an effect, “Why, exactly, did you not like about the prostitute I picked out for you?”

Martin blushed, still staring straight ahead out the window, unable to make eye contact with Douglas when he told him, “Because you sent a girl.”

 

 _Oh_.

 

Time 3

_June 18, 2:30 pm, Central European Time_

They hadn’t had a job for two days, which had actually been a relief. Douglas had needed the time to...adjust to this new information about his co-pilot (“Captain!” said Martin’s voice in his head, annoyingly). It wasn’t that he had thought all that much about Martin’s sexuality in the past. He’d assumed he was straight, and that was that. Now he was forced to think about it, which was...new.

Douglas had no problem with homosexuality, of course. He’d had a few experiences himself, between marriages and at school and that sort of thing, not that he talked about them much. His crowd at the starting gate of the London Marathon was not made up _entirely_ of women. But...Martin?

He found himself looking at Martin with a slightly different perspective now, as he bustled about doing the walk-round and meticulously writing down every single reading on the dashboard. What did men look for in other men, and did they find it in Martin? It was a strange question for his brain to be asking, and stranger still, he could easily imagine that the answer was “yes.” Those long limbs, which Douglas usually noticed when they were getting caught up in things or being tripped over, were actually fairly well-defined, and had sort of a lanky grace, at least when he wasn’t knocking them into walls or doors or cups of tea. Those silly ginger curls were rather fetching, and Martin’s eyes, slightly too wide apart and that strange pale green color, could, in the right frame of mind, actually be described as transfixing. He had a lot of freckles. Some people thought that was adorable, though, didn’t they?

“What,” said Martin.

“I”m sorry, what?” said Douglas.

“You’re...looking at me,” said Martin. His shoulders came up to his ears, as they always did when he was beginning to think Douglas was having him on. “Staring at me. What is it? What have I done this time? Did you put a lemon on my head again?”

Caught out, damn. Was he really being that obvious?

“Actually, Martin, I was looking at the magneto switch behind you,” said Douglas. “Or rather, the spot where I could have sworn we once had a magneto switch, and not a gaping hole that is now giving off sparks.”

Martin blanched and spun around, and after that it was all flailing about the cabin and arguments with Carolyn over how crucial a magneto switch really was in the middle of a flight and a truly edifying discussion with Arthur about whether “magneto” or “dynamo” was a better superhero name, which only made Martin more flustered, until at one point he actually tripped over his own captain’s hat, which he had set on the floor with much pomp while he bent down to look at the switch, and that was basically Christmas for Douglas, and all was back to normal. He teased Martin through half of the Atlantic, and felt much better about everything.

Actually Douglas had noticed the missing magneto switch a few months ago, but had been saving it for a really choice moment.

 

Time 4

_June 18, 7:30 pm, Central European Time_

The problem with the ocean, Douglas always realized at about this point in cross-Atlantic flights, was that it was very, very, very, _very_ wide. Crossing it took a very, very, very long time, and Martin was rubbish at “Book titles that are funnier with ‘love’ replaced by ‘hysterical sex’,” and they had exhausted the old standbys of “passenger bingo” and “I’m going on a picnic and I’m not allowed to bring anything aviation related, Martin, or rugby-related, Douglas, and no Arthur none of those things start with C.” They had resorted finally to playing some bastardized version of ‘Fizz Buzz’ again, but then had the unfortunate realization that GERTI, friendly and useful aeroplane that she was, had developed a fault in the circuit that controlled the PA system, so most of what they said in the cabin was now being broadcast to their transatlantic passengers. Carolyn had thrown up her hands and hissed to them no one was allowed to talk in the flight deck for the rest of the flight yes even if the plane was going down, before going to reassure the paying customers that “fizz” and “buzz” were important aviation signal codes.

There was a moment of silence in the cabin before Arthur said, in what could only in the most generous terms be described as a whisper, “We could play the quiet game.”

Martin rolled his eyes and slouched further back in his chair.

“That is not an actual game, Arthur,” whispered Douglas, “so much as life-saving device in times of great stress. Also, it’s boring.”

The Atlantic continued to roll under them, endless and unchanging. GERTI was on autopilot for at least the next four hours.

“Oh!” said Arthur, slightly softer than before. “I’ve got it. We used to play this on school trips, after lights out, in our beds.”

Douglas raised one eyebrow with perfect clarity. Martin stifled a giggle on the other side of the cabin, so clearly he was thinking of the same possible things to do after going to bed on a school trip.

“Here, I’ll show you, Skip,” said Arthur, oblivious as always. He crossed to Martin’s chair and put his hand on his back, pushing him forward. Martin tensed, Douglas could see it, but Arthur didn’t. He whispered something into the captain’s ear, and Martin’s head tilted and his mouth quirked up questioningly, but he relaxed, and nodded. Douglas couldn’t hear what was going on at all.

Arthur’s fingers started moving across Martin’s back in big strokes. Martin looked like he was concentrating, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling, peeking out from under those long lashes.

“Um, P? No, no, R,” Martin whispered, craning his head over his shoulder to look at Arthur.

“Yes! You got it, Skip, that was very clever. P!” Arthur turned toward Douglas, grinning. “See, the way the game is played, Douglas-”

“No, I rather think I’ve got it,” said Douglas, his voice pitched low but not quite a whisper anymore. “Letters, then? Or whole words?”

“It’s harder than it looks,” said Martin. “Here, I’ll do a short word.” He got out of his chair and walked the few steps over to Douglas’s, stopping behind him, inches away. Douglas wanted to turn around in his chair and look at him, there was something about not being able to see what Martin was doing that made him oddly nervous.

Martin put a hand on Douglas’s back, resting it there for a moment. Then Douglas heard a sort of chuckle behind him, close to his ear, and Martin’s hand left his back. Douglas found himself missing the contact.

One finger touched his left shoulder blade, moving slowly but surely down. Douglas felt intensely aware of everything he was sensing, conscious only of the small circle of touch, moving slowly but surely down his back, further down than he really would have thought Martin would go and - _That is quite enough of that_ , Douglas told his brain.

“Wait,” Douglas whispered, wanting to stop the process, catch his breath. “Upper case or lower case letters? I need more information, before you cheat.”

He could practically hear Martin roll his eyes behind him. “Upper case. Stop talking.”

Douglas was totally off balance now, his skin felt sensitive and all his muscles were on high alert, and Martin’s “stop talking,” whispered low and commanding, had his mind reeling off in directions it really shouldn’t be. Martin’s finger on his back moved again and Douglas forced himself to focus on the shape it was carving, the lines and curves of the letter, and not Martin’s long finger trailing across his skin, dipping lower, making him shiver...

“Jack?”

“No,” said Martin, low, a smirk in his voice. “Shall I do it again?” Without waiting for an answer, he started up again, his finger against Douglas’s left shoulder blade, even slower and more deliberate this time. Douglas bit his lip and willed his thoughts out of his pants, trying to think only of letters and lines and curves and the alphabet.

“Jerk??”

Martin laughed, loud, the sound startling them all after all the quiet.

“Oh my god, Martin, what are you, five? Jerk?” Douglas shook his head, trying to steady himself. This was GERTI’s cabin, this was Martin, Martin, it was a silly game. That was all. Just like any other flight. “I cannot imagine that was directed at me.”

Martin was grinning, and Arthur, too.

“Really, Martin, jerk,” Douglas said, sarcasm always the easiest thing for him when he was wrong-footed. “The mean lifeguard who won’t let you run in the pool is a jerk. The teacher who catches you snogging your 13 year old girlfriend under the bleachers is a jerk. I am not, and have never been, a jerk.”

“You aspire to a higher class of berk, then?” said Martin.

“I aspire, and I achieve,” said Douglas. They had pretty much all forgotten to whisper at this point. “Jerk. _You’re_ the jerk, Martin,” He spun back around to face the windshield, hands at the controls.

“Touchy,” said Martin, sitting back in his own seat, too.

Douglas thought of so many responses to that one, not a single on that would be at all reasonable to say to Martin, in the middle of a plane trip no less, and so he just glared.

 

Time 5

_June 18, 5:30 pm, Eastern Standard Time_

The cable television in Douglas’s hotel room was out. That was what he was going to blame this absurd decision on, should anyone ask. He’d had two hours with very little else to do but think, and had come to what was sure to be a regrettable conclusion, but really, there was nothing else to do. He hated New York.

Douglas knocked on Martin’s door.

Martin took a few minutes to answer, and when he finally came to the door he looked like he must have been asleep. His hair was mussed around his face and his eyes were sleepy, and as he stood there looking at Douglas he yawned, scrubbing a hand across his face. Something twisted in Douglas; this might be dumb and almost definitely something he would regret later, but he didn’t care at that moment. Douglas grabbed Martin’s shoulders and stepped through the door into him, kissing him full on the lips as the door shut behind them.

Martin’s eyes widened as Douglas got closer, and once his mouth was on him he made a muffled noise that was probably “Douglas!” But he didn’t move away, he didn’t tell him to stop, and after a moment Martin was kissing back, slow and tentative but growing more heated, his long arms snaking around Douglas’s waist and resting on his hips, moving closer, pressing their bodies together, filling the space between them. Martin made a low noise in his throat, a gasp that turned into a laugh, and Douglas was sure he had made the right decision.

He pulled back, a few steps.

“I lied, you know, Martin,” said Douglas, still holding tight to his shoulders.

“Oh?” said Martin. He sounded slightly breathless, and Douglas loved it.

“I am not sorry, at all, for what happened in Amsterdam.”

Martin looked surprised and then smiled, a slow grin that lit up his whole face, made his dimples appear. Douglas wanted to lick them off.

“All right, your turn,” said Douglas. Martin looked at him, wide-eyed, off-balance but trusting. “You didn’t have a go during the flight.” Douglas brought one finger to his chest, the bone between the ribs, right under the skin because Martin was so skinny. Moving even slower than Martin had, he trailed his finger straight down, all the while keeping his eyes on Martin’s.

“Care to guess what I’m getting at, Martin?” he asked as his finger skipped over Martin’s navel and trailed lower and lower.

Martin was blushing, even now. It was almost unbearably endearing.

Douglas laughed, he wasn’t even sure at what. At how easy this felt, maybe, how comfortable and yet incredibly exciting. At Martin, as usual, always.

“You have to stop teasing me, Douglas,” said Martin, his voice steadier now but lower and thicker, sending bolts of desire into Douglas’s stomach.

“Oh, Martin,” he said as his finger trailed under the waistband of his pajamas, agonizingly slow. “I really, really don’t.”

THE END


End file.
